Your World
by StZen
Summary: What if a certain somebody had never come to his senses, and the evil plots of his grandfather had been successfully carried out? What if world domination had been achieved, having fallen into the wrong hands? Depressing oneshot


This is Your World

(A/N): This. is. DEPRESSING.

Honestly, I began to write it, and then just carried on changing my mind the more I wrote.

Also, I don't think it's any good. It's like 2:30am and I am lacking sleep. Chances are I shall be deleting it tomorrow.

This is a reflection of the world once Voltaire and Boris took control of it. Influences come from certain dystopic books I have been reading recently.

Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade, and now I'm wondering if people will actually think I do own it because I forgot to include the disclaimer in my last fic…

* * *

This is your world.

Those who have survived this long no longer know a world of plenty and peace, where opinions are expressed, and thoughts are kept to ones self only. Those who can proudly stand up and say they are still alive only see a society filled with nothing but corruption. There is rarely a sunny day amongst the filth and decadence. Even if there ever was, when is there ever time to sit back and enjoy it?

Freedom means nothing anymore. There is no such word, it possessed no real meaning. A hypothetical term used to explain something that no longer exists. Never did anybody think a world could exist, where life is slavery, and death is freedom. It is a cruel fate indeed, to beg and to plead for life to be over, wishing that our strong bodies would give up the fight. I don't believe we ever realised before just how tough we were all along. But we just want to throw that all away now. Our lives have become a form of hell, and we would rather risk rotting in the ground without a heaven, than continue to live this way. It cannot even be called living, this is dying. Children and brought into this world, and grow up, to die. There is nothing left to look forward to, no hope left for any of us.

What few supporters they have make it their mission to inflict pain and misery on their enemies. There is not a soul on this earth that can escape their punishment. It is destiny, from the moment you are brought into this world. You either betray yourself and the rest of humankind, or you continue to struggle on, wishing your heart would stop.

In the corner of the small squared room, made up of filthy white porcelain, he sits, sickly and pale, barely alive. He can't even be sure that he's a person anymore. He has no way of knowing what he looks like, but he knows he doesn't look human. No human should be reduced to this. Slumped against the stained white walls, which show a striking contrast against crimson blood, he can do nothing now but simply waste away. His eyes are hazed and his mouth is sagging. He is sickly pale and far too thin. Dying of starvation, he can barely even think anymore. You could say he simply exists, but even that is debatable. They determine whether you exist or not. Should they decide to be rid of you, you never existed. Nobody knows you, and nobody remembers you.

Unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to think, he can't understand why he is being kept alive. Given just enough water to keep him going, he finds that when he is faced with it, he cannot help but drink. They are keeping him alive for a reason, but at their mercy, so that they can finally control him completely, like they always wanted to. They can't let him become a martyr; they have to let him know who controls him.

No idea of the time of day, no recollection even of what year it is, he knows he cannot be saved now.

Nobody is coming for him. They're all dead, or worse. They could have joined him, and become the very thing that people like Kai fought so hard against. Though it did not matter to him anymore, he would never see any of them again.

He would never see anybody again.

Sometimes he takes great comfort in being the one on the inside. Perhaps they had played with his mind too much, but he believes that in a way, he is being protected. He's in here, and they're out there. Out there, though he had not seen it in a long time, was a far worse place to be.

For a long time he had resisted. That was when he was young, and foolish, and believed that he could take control, and have it all his way. He didn't know if he was still young, he certainly didn't feel it. Once, a long time ago, he had put up a fight. Distraught at being under constant surveillance, he had done his best to rebel and cause trouble. The punishment had not come as a shock to him, but after a while he learned his lesson. He didn't know how long he had been there, he had no way of even knowing the time of day. Time was something that no longer existed to him, and hadn't for god knows how long. After what might be months, but seems like years, he learned to just stay put. The constant eyes upon him no longer put him off, solitude was always something he could deal with.

Given the opportunity he knew would never come, the opportunity to leave, he knows he would not be able to face taking it. He knows that the terrible burden of destruction, falls upon his shoulders. He knows that this was all his fault. He would never be able to bring himself to look upon the world he had helped to create.

He loathed himself for being so blind, so carelessly stupid. He was used as a puppet, without even seeing it behind his pride. He had been certain he had control over the situation. By the time he had realised, it was too late. The damage had already been done. No sooner had the tragic incident occurred, his previous privileges were forgotten, along with everybody else's in the world. Having been used, he was thrown to one side, kept locked away to ensure he was kept an eye on.

He had intentionally betrayed his friends, and just as he began to feel guilty for that, he had single-handedly managed to betray the whole human race. He had allowed himself to be used, and lost control of everything.

There was no going back. There was no light at the end of this tunnel. Nothing but doom, eternal darkness held in a room where fluorescent light constantly shone. Never again would he step out to breath fresh air. Never again would he speak, think, maybe even walk. He is no use to anybody anymore, the damage was done long ago, and he can only wait patiently for death.

Beyond the porcelain cell is a world that he knows little of, and sometimes wonders if it's only some sort of dream. But this world is all too well known by others, those who scramble through rotten streets in an attempt to feed themselves, those who once had all the wealth and luck in the world, reduced to nothing but jittering wrecks, doubting their own memories of the pleasures they once had. You can try to run away, but no difference would be made; all countries are the same. There's no way of knowing where one ends and another begins. They are all stuck in an inhuman state, being told everything they know is a lie, and everything they remember never happened.

And who's to say they're wrong? There are to be no changes any time soon. There's nobody around to put this dictator in his place. There's nobody to tell him he's wrong. If he controls the world, what he says is right is rightfully right, no matter how wrong you think it is. Whether you are a minority or not, if you go against what he says, you are wrong, and need to be cured quickly.

The boy in his prison knows this now, having tried to make sense of it for so long. He has finally learned to ignore all common sense, because common sense is wrong, and everything it ever told him is a lie. His memories are false, he doesn't even think he has a name anymore. He's pretty certain he has been wiped from existence, and should they be questioned on it, everybody he ever knew, would insist they don't remember him. Once upon a time, he was Kai Hiwatari, a Beyblader who came so close to being a world champion once. Or was he? Even this would be denied, and therefore, never happened. He never was that person. He never existed, and therefore, still doesn't. All he did was bring tragedy to the world.

But as much as he forgets himself, or tries to, he can never forget him. He can never forget the man who brought all of this on, tricked him into everything. That man, and his own grandfather. They had done this to him. They could probably see him at this very moment, sitting motionless in the corner, perhaps wondering if he was dead yet.

They had worked so hard for this. They had spent years on their plans, and well, they finally succeeded didn't they.

They had their world, their little playground where they could play bully and make everybody do as they wished. They had what now seems like such a small region under their control. The extent of their power was used to inflict worship upon themselves, use physical force to make everybody deny the past that they knew and remembered, and have their people long for their lives to end.

'Yes, you truly did yourself proud, grandfather.' the forgotten boy thought, with his old air of sarcasm.

'Congratulations, this is your world.'

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(A/N): Told you it was depressing.

I don't even like it though, so as I said, it will probably be gone soon.

I certainly will not make a habit of writing stories like this. I didn't plan on writing this one actually, I finished a chapter for another fic and just felt like writing something else.


End file.
